Control
by MyGoldenGlow
Summary: Set after "The Equation". Olivia has trouble dealing with the loss of time and turns to someone for help. one-shot


**Set after "The Equation", so spoilers.**

**Not mine!  
**

* * *

The world stopped today. I mean, it just stopped. One minute everything was nice and moving along fine. The next everything stopped. No – the world didn't stop, I did. I just stopped – I was running and going to fire, then I froze. I stood there – I don't know for how long – until finally Charlie came along to ask me what was up. How long had I been standing there? I forgot to ask him, and now I can't bring myself to. It couldn't have been long – if I had been out of it for too long he would have looked more concerned, would have been shouting my name. Right?

I want to ask Peter what he was doing during that time – if I knew what time it was. I want to take his memories and make them my own, so that I have something to fill in the blank. But I did nothing. I stood there – for a millisecond. But it wasn't a millisecond. Ten minutes? Twenty? _Thirty?_ It couldn't have been thirty. Unless the building was bigger than I thought – unless Charlie found the boy and thought that I was chasing after Joanne and waited for me. That would be a logical conclusion, right?

I want to ask Peter. He would tell me, right? He had lost time, he would understand my need for fulfillment – my need to _know_. Wouldn't he? He had been through the same thing, but he hadn't asked me anything. Maybe he had questioned Astrid – after all, Peter doesn't like to show weakness, and Astrid wouldn't have commented. She's good like that, keeping secrets and being comforting. She puts up with the madness for a poor salary and the hope that what she does will make a difference. Without her I don't think any of us could get along. She would tell Peter – tell him the exact amount of time he had lost – down to the millisecond. The millisecond that he would never remember. The millisecond that I had lost.

Would he laugh? I don't want to tell him how scared I was – am. I'm not that type of person, not the weak kind. But the world stopped. I can't remember and it terrifies me. Something happened – it must have. The world didn't stop, I've established that. But the not knowing…it's worse than any torture I have ever endured.

Peter has enough on his plate. But it's only a simple question. He couldn't be bothered anyway – it's stupid and pointless. He'd tell me to lighten up, remind me of nights when I got so drunk I couldn't remember anything. But it was never like this. It wasn't often, and the details were hazy, but there. I felt time pass me by – I knew it was happening. Peter isn't the one I should ask, is he?

Walter wouldn't understand, would he? He'd talk physics and chemistry and biology, using scientific terms that sound educational, but are mostly made up on the spot. There would be no comfort, and even if what he said sounded remotely like English, it would probably only make me even more upset.

I could talk to Astrid, like Peter most likely did. But Astrid is tired – she has paperwork and filing and it's almost two in the morning. If she isn't in bed, she wants to be, and I don't want to bother her tonight. She does too much for us – she'll be in at six promptly tomorrow morning, bright-eyed, with coffee and a good morning well wishing for everyone. Astrid is a godsend sometimes. Most times.

My options swing back to Peter. I decide that maybe I could talk to him – I've told him things before. But they mattered. Time – he'd tell me I'm too much of a control freak. I am, I'll admit. But not to him. Without that knowledge I think I'll go insane though. Already my thoughts are racing and darting and threatening to overwhelm me. If I don't vent to _someone_ I'm running the risk of losing it. Any second now John will appear – I'm waiting for that to happen, just as I'm waiting for my memories to come back, or the world to shudder to a halt.

I'm at his door. I'm not sure how I got here, but I am. Another blank in my memory – I blame the Bishops. The entire family – it's all their fault. I should leave – but then I would never get answers. I knock softly on the door – Peter answers automatically. His shirt is off, but his pants are on. He sees me and smiles softly, sadly. He steps out and shuts the door. We move down the hallway silently. At the end of it he waits, looking at me, waiting for me to speak. I try to explain.

"The world stopped today. I mean, it didn't. Well, it did, but not so much the world, as…well, me. I stopped, I mean…I need to know," I said finally, meeting his eyes. I'm sure I looked a sight – my eyes were wild with desperation, I could tell, "What happened, what was going on when I was…When it just…"

"I was driving Walter home. He didn't say anything in the car – just kinda looked lost and confused. Like he did when he left the place for the first time, only more angry. When we got home I let him in and he told me he needed more space. Then I said I'd talk to you later. And then you called and said that you found him and everything was alright." He was staring in my eyes, not a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Peter was the right person.

"How long…how long was the ride home?"

"Not long," he said, with a small smile, "Maybe half an hour? Less, probably. I wasn't really looking."

My breathing was coming in awkward gasps, chest heaving as I tried to calm down. Almost instantaneously I felt one hand on my shoulder,

"It's OK, Olivia. Deep breaths. Don't worry. You'll be fine."

"I don't know how I got here," I manage, my brain in a state of utter terror. My control is slipping away – fast.

"Looks like you walked – barefoot."

I glance down – my feet hurt. Slowly my breathing returns to normal and he lets his hand slip down.

"Thank you," I breathe, but those words cannot convey how much his actions mean to me.

"Just remember I was nice when I come knocking on your door at two," he says simply, and I laugh. We both laugh. Then we can't stop laughing. The relief in knowing that it was an unremarkable thirty minutes in which Peter drove himself and his father home– a set time, a set action – means that all of my fear was for nothing. And without the weight crushing me down, everything seems that much better. Even though it was hardly funny, we spent a good ten minutes laughing. A set time, a set action. A control freak and a laid back guy, clutching each other for support in a crazy world.

* * *

**Review! no flames please!**


End file.
